


Heaven Forbid

by justmariamay



Series: Kyrie Eleison [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5 Times, Biblical References, Big Brother Michael, Character Study, Depression, Gen, God's A+ Parenting, Hurt Michael, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Raphael, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Protective Zachariah, The Flood - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-02-21 12:37:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2468453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justmariamay/pseuds/justmariamay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Michael made his siblings cry and one time he was the one left in tears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hortus Animarum

**Garden of souls**

 

The Garden of Eden became lonely a while ago. Now it seems completely silent with Apocalypse drawing closer and closer. Angels still come here, not singing and laughing, but seeking solitude. It used to be a place, where the souls would gather to praise the Lord and dance in harmony. And now even though everything is green and blooming as always, the silence is unsettling. Birds sing, but it's not enough to kill the quet. It shouldn't be this way, but there is nothing Joshua can do. His just a gardener, a groundkeeper. It's truly strange that the Lord has chosen him to speak to. It's strange that Father doesn't speak of Heavenly buisiness, of angels or demons. Instead they speak of trees and mountains, flowers and poetry and other things. Father is tired, wich is not a big surprise.

  Wondering through the thiket he comes to the very place, where Adam and Eve surrendered to the Original Sin. Someone is standing under that tree. The place lost it's significance, but seeing a young woman holding the once forbidden fruit in her hands stirs a lot of bad memories. She stands there so quetly, unmoving, as an ivory statuete. Long browng disheveled hair hides her face and covers naked breasts, the rich stained clothes ripped from her shoulders, revealing white chest and stomach. The woman is covered with blood. No soul in Heaven should look like this, such state more becoming to the ones in Hell. She should be clean, unburdened, modest. But then Joshua realizes that this is not a soul, but an angel. Because that righteous woman he sees died old and this... this is how she probably looked like right after she performed her feat. Judith. He is surprised and unsurprised that she happened to be some angel's vessel. It makes sense, because it's hard to believe, that this fragil thing could lift a sword, much less that she could severe warrior's head in one swing. She's done it with God's help. He doesn't recognize the angel straightway though, her grace has merged with Eden.

  Joshua comes a little closer, not close enough to disturb his guest. And that was a wise decision. Even wiser it would be if he left immediately, because it's Michael Joshua is looking at. But he just can't help staring. He's sure all those Renaissance artists would kill for this sight. Half-naked Judith gripping the fruit of knowledge, looking into infinity. From where he stands Joshua can't distinguish Michael's expression, but he is certain, that it's the usual emotionless mask. He is wondering what the Viceroy of Heaven is doing here, when the cursed fruit falls to the ground without making any sound and a pair of dark bewitching eyes nails him to the spot. For a moment angel thinks he is going to be smited. But then blank face is lighted with small barely-there smile and Joshua can swear that smile looks a little embarassed. She walks toward him and stops right before she comes too close. Pretty head cocks in silent question.

  The only word he manages to articulate is careful "Michael," recognition, greeting and apology in one name.

  "Hello, Joshua," voice deep, velvet and just as dark as those big abysmal eyes.

  And then... then Michael takes Joshua's dark calloused hands in hers, small, white and thin, but the power in them is unmistakable. She easily can crush him with her little finger, if she wished so. Michael has never hid or showed his might. It's just there, natural and constant. It's odd how everything about Michael is natural and at the same time somehow grotesque and wrong. The way he moves, how he sometimes blink with such speed and, Lord, those mostrous wings. Joshua can't decide if Michael beautiful or ugly. He seems perfect in his purity, even when he has killed more than all Heaven's Host altogether ever did, in his lack of pride and envy. And lack of shame too. Being the eldest, he never seems old or weary like Joshua, lost like Gabriel did, resentful like Raphael or cynical like Naomi. He carries the heaviest load with such unbelievable ease. If Joshua was honest to himself, he would admit that he is afraid of Michael. And Gabriel's words still ringing in his ears: "Heartless, empty, cold war machine". A weapon that took a place of its owner.

  But right at this very moment the Flame and Sword of their Father is gently holding his hands in her tiny palms and looking at them with some kind of childish adoration. And Joshua's fear is eclipsed by warmth and serenity. Safety and promises of Peace. And something else Joshua can't quet name for now.

  "I remember burning down this place," she says, letting go of his hands, her voice gains an undertone, "I didn't mean to."

  It should sound like apology. It doesn't. Just statement. But, truthfully, Michael has nothing to be feeling sorry for, Joshua understands it. And still... and still he clearly remembers how he watched in horror as Eden sunk in the sea of fire. Only this tree of Knowledge was left standing unaffected, everything else turned to ashes. In mere seconds.

  "You did what you had to do," Joshua aswers with a heavy sorrowful sigh.

  "No."

  Joshua can't grasp the meaning that soft no: _'No, I didn't'_ or _'No, I didn't have to,'_ and he is sure he just imagined a slight tremble in the voice of his allmighty sister. But he for sure doesn't imagine the shiver of her hands. It's barely noticeable, almost invisible quiver of delicate fingers as they move into the folds of her skirt.

  When Joshua finally gathers a courage to ask what's the matter, those trembling fingers grip his wrists again, hard and desperate this time, nails digging into the skin, bones are shuttering, but the warmth from before doesn't let the pain to take over, owlish eyes are piercing right into his core like sharp blades.

  "Brother, will you tell Him that I..." and she suddenly stops. She looks into his eyes, then at their hands and within a moment the iron grip weakens, slight caress of her thumbs heal the broken bones and red traces of nails, reducing pain to nothing. Her own hands stop shaking as she gets a hold on herself.

  "No. No, no, no... don't tell him anything. I..." she looks as if she's forgoten how to pronounce the words. "It's going to be alright. I promise. I'll fix everything, I'll make it all aright. Believe me," she whispers covering his hands with kisses, and Joshua isn't able to understand a single word. His mind is flooded with confusion.

  "Michael, I don't..."

  But Michael is gone, like she's never been here, only one bird pecks at the fruit she dropped earlier.

  Joshua doesn't realize he's been crying until he covers his face with his palms and hot tears feel like ice against the skin Michael has burnt with her kisses.


	2. Cor Leonis

**Lionheart**

 

  Zachariah wanders through the hills of Midbar Yehuda, the Judaean Desert, leaving the walls of Jerusalem far behind. He's on a mission. Well, not exactly. Raphael ordered to go find Mikhail. Nothing else: no _'bring him back'_ or _'send him a message'_.

  "Just find him," she said.

  Even if Zachariah was a complete fool, he would understand, that she is worried, scared even. Scared that Mikhail might leave her behind, like their Father, like Gabriel... like Isaiah the Morning Star. Kindhearted Raphael is breaking under the weight of their common loss as she tries to deal with it and her bleeding heart won't survive Mikhail's disappearance. But Mikhail won't leave, never. It's just that his Grace lately became... unstable to say the least. The angel has his suspicions, that it could be because it's not really the Saint Spirit that maintains the Heaven anymore... but he doesn't want to elaborate this idea.

  Anyway, it's impossible to locate Mikhail from above. It's the second continent he is searching and Zachariah is here because of demons' activity in the area. Well, if he won't find the archangel he at least will get rid of few more of those hideous things.

  Not having time to find a decent human vessel, he walks the Earth in his animal form, like he did before humanity became Lord’s priority. He remembers clearly as it was yesterday: Raphael’s sharp fins, as he made his way through water depths, Isaiah’s golden scale, as he basked in the sun on the shore, Gabriel’s hoofs that carried him through dense forests and Mikhail’s magnificent wings, for once not as ridiculous as in his true form. Back then everything was simple and beautiful in its simplicity. But of course stupid hairless apes had to make things complicated. Whatever plan God had for them they had to screw it up just because.

  His own feline shape quickly leads Zachariah to the source of that stench. Sulfur. Demons. He can’t wait to rip open their meatsuits open and tear apart their corrupted souls. Evil pitiful maggots. Though now he is able to sense not only lowly fiends, but someone of higher rank as well. That makes him bare his fangs in anticipation as hi starts racing faster towards Mar Saba, the monastery that became a home to John of Damascus few centuries ago.

  A rather funny bunch has gathered few miles away from the road up to monastery: two women, two monks, a crusader, a shepherd and a child. Young shepherd with thick black hair and black beard and white clothes stands tranquilly as others are circling around him. Through the devilish reek Zachariah manages to distinguish the heavenly odor. Mission complete, Mikhail is found. However, it’s strange that he hasn’t burnt the demons yet. Zachariah starts sneaking closer and hears heathens hiss and growl at the archangel. And in between their angry sounds there is a tiny voice of a girl.

  “Oh, uncle, don’t you think I don’t know what you are up to,” she says mockingly.

  Lilith, little bitch. Who else.

  “Seals, hmm… We keep finding them here and there, you know. Father will be free sooner than you think.”

  Wench.

  Zachariah gets ready to pounce and rip her black heart out. But sound of Mikhail’s voice stops him on his track.

  “So naïve, child. So guileless,” there is no mocking or disdain, but… compassion?

  “I’m not! You are if you came here deliberately seeking me!”

  Now, that is interesting. Why would his elder brother do such thing?

  “Don’t think you can just kill me, archangel! I know who you are, I know how to fight you!” she continues sounding like whimsical child. Which she is.

  “But I can, should I wish so. And nothing will help you. However that is not a reason I am here. I haven’t come to shed your filthy blood,” Mikhail answers calmly.

  _‘Then why?’_ wonders Zachariah.

  Lilith pauses at that. Her mindless minions continue whirl around the chief angel, stupid enough not to fear him. Then he speaks again.

  “You love your father, don’t you?” his voice gentle.

  “Who are you to ask?! You know nothing of love!” she just won’t calm down, will she? Lord, she’s annoying.

  “Hush, child,” Mikhail pacifies her with ease, as if she is some angeling and not a demon whore. “Even if you open all the seals it won’t open the Cage and you know it. There is a lock, and only the Horsemen hold the keys. Will you be able to obtain them?”

  “I will!” she yells desperately, but Mikhail continues ignoring her outburst.

  “Probably not. They are not very friendly, and even while being bound are more powerful, than you can imagine. So, I’m here to make an offer. You, child, you I can give a special key.”

  What?

  “Wha-what are you talking about?” Yes, Zachariah would like to know too.

  “You claim to love your father, but how much are you willing to give up for him? Are you willing to sacrifice everything for him? I am for mine. But what about you, Lilith?”

  “I-I… Why would you do that? You hate me,”

  “I don’t hate anyone. Nor do I have any warm feel for you. You are nothing to me. But I do understand you.”

  The archangel steps a little closer to the girl in bloodstained clothes. Zachariah watches the scene before him hypnotized. Lilith opens her little mouth, but nothing comes out.

  “Your only chance, child. I shall not come to seek you out ever again,” coming from Mikhail’s lips it is final.

  “I… I…” Is that tears he hears? “Do you truly mean it, uncle?” she asks sounding so disgustingly innocent and this time ‘uncle’ is genuine, but that just infuriates Zachariah. How dares she? He hears his own menacing growl, claws bare on their own, but no one seems to notice him at all. Well, worse for them.

  “I don’t lie. Never,” simply answers Mikhail.

  “Then… yes. Of course,” Lilith finally resolves.

  She stops her thralls from attacking Mikhail, when he lightly touches her forehead with two fingers. It seems like nothing has happened, but Zachariah knows better. He knows what exactly Mikhail has done and… he is surprisingly fine with it. He won’t doubt his brother, not again. But… he’s definitely not fine with demons that still surround Mikhail whispering their black spells.

  That whore Lilith has a nerve to actually hug the archangel as he stands impassively and second later she leaves little broken body of a dead girl with a stream of black smoke. And her fiends immediately rush at Mikhail. They are not able to hurt him, Zachariah knows, but he be damned if he lets their filthy hands or their vile breathe even touch Mikhail’s vessel.

  Templar’s chainmail is like butter under his sharp claws, so is his body. The demon turns into ashes as Zachariah’s Grace pierces him. The rest follow. Crimson gashes, torn throats and burnt out eyes. Quick and cruel. He doesn’t care for their hosts. If they were good people – Heaven awaits. Were they sinners – Hell shall welcome them. As simple as that.

  Nasty taste lingers in his mouth. He approaches Mikhail who didn’t move an inch since the moment Zachariah jumped in between him and demons. He carefully nudges archangel’s hand with his blooded muzzle. That hand lightly travels from his jaw to his ear where it sinks into thick mane and Mikhail himself sinks to his knees and speaks softly into his ear.

  “Was it wrong of me to do that, Zachariah?”

  If he could answer in words he’d say that he doesn’t blame Mikhail. Instead he nuzzles into his chest and listens to a steady heartbeat breathing in smell of the shepherd and his wife searching for the Mikhail’s unique scent. And he finds it. The transparent smell of purest snow overcomes the smell of sweat, dirt and fleece. Mikhail’s scent calms him down better than his caressing hands.

  “I miss him, Zachariah. I want to see him again.”

  This could be said about Father or Gabriel, but Zachariah knows that he means Isaiah and he has nor mean nor need to say aloud _‘You’ll have to kill him,’_ because…

  “I know,” a whisper ghosts into his ear when Mikhail buries his head in his mane.

  “You won’t leave me too, right, brother? You never did, you never will, right?” his voice muffled, but clear to Zachariah. Zachariah hates that Mikhail sounds a lot like Lilith just minutes ago, disgustingly innocent. He hates how it makes him feel. Guilty. Because he almost did leave Michael, almost joined Satan’s cause, almost betrayed Father and could end up rotting in Hell. But in the end he chose right. Yes, he has despised humanity from the very start, but unlike Isaiah he never envied them, in his opinion there’s nothing to envy. Father’s love? Their dearest father, whom he’d never seen, has left them all along with his precious humans and threw their love for him like worthless garbage. And yes, he didn’t choose Father back then. He chose Mikhail. And whatever happens in near future he won’t regret this choice.

  His eyes sting for whatever reason: nasty taste of sulfur in his mouth, stupid thoughts of probably dead God and his own mistakes or Mikhail’s uncharacteristically cold hands that he can feel through the thick skin. He’s just glad that big cats don’t cry as ugly as hairless apes do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I like how this one turned out. I think that made sense...


	3. Sanguis et Cinis

Blood and Ashes

 

  Raphael’s feet are buried in ash, white and black alike. It is still burning, but numbness in his whole existence doesn’t let him feel anything, not a feeling, but one. A feeling of the world falling apart. War. War has come galloping on his magnificent red steed soon after Lucifer challenged Father. Death has followed close behind and their brothers are soon to arrive as well. Decay and insanity all around. And blood. And ashes.

  By Father’s order Michael has cast cast down on Earth many of their brothers and sisters, Camael has exiled humans from Eden and Gadreel is imprisoned without a chance to speak for himself. Angels are killing each other, while Lucifer gathers another kind of army.

  War started some time ago but until now Raphael hasn’t bared his blade. He wasn’t a warrior after all. As a healer he tended to his wounded brothers. But Father gave him a mission and he has done what he’d been told to do. He’s bound Azazel on Earth, deep underground. Azazel put weapons into humans’ hands and taught them to use it. Thus Lucifer’s army of twisted spirits has grown quick and now steadily replenishes. After the ferocious fight with Azazel the green land, where it took its place, has turned into dried suffocating desert. There Raphael has buried his once brother.

  If anyone asks him, what he wants, he wouldn’t answer. Raphael doesn’t know. Not anymore. He knows what Father wants. Justice and retribution. He knows what Gabriel wants. He wants this all over. He wants to blame someone, so he blames Michael. And Michael… it doesn’t matter what Michael wants. It never mattered. Even to Michael himself. Good son. Good soldier. The best brother. He stays strong in spite of everything. Only his halo hasn’t lost its color. That’s why it is so easy to find him; he’s like a beacon to Raphael.

  He comes to Michael because he can’t find Gabriel, who’s hiding from reality again. And Raphael doesn’t dare to disturb Father. And even though Gabriel would be a better company and Father – a better advisor, he can always count on Michael to listen without asking questions.

  He finds his brother standing on the very edge of Heaven, staring through the clouds and space that separates two worlds. Suddenly Raphael is afraid that Michael might slip and fall and stop being his brother, like many of their brothers did. Or worse, Michael might fall and disappear completely. It’s stupid of course. Such a childish fear. But even so Raphael comes to Michael and embraces him from behind holding tightly. And when he hides his face in Michael’s hair he smells it again. Copper and sulfur. Blood and ashes. Raphael loses himself for a moment in the awful smell, Michael’s black dirty hair and his pure Grace and memories he’d rather forget. Cries for mercy ring in his ears. Torn wings and corrupted Grace. Devastated lands. It is going to happen again… A firm and yet gentle squeeze on his arm brings Raphael out of the nightmare his mind started sinking into.

  “Let’s step away just a little bit,” he begs Michael so softly he can barely hear himself.

  As Michael’s grace slowly and carefully envelopes him in its warm comfort and light sadness, Raphael finally loosens his hold and makes a step behind. When his brother turns to face he immediately yanks him away from the edge. They stumble and fall to the ground covered with cinder. Raphael finds himself on top of Michael clinging to him as tight as he did when Michael took him to fly for the first time. _‘I’d never let you fall,’_ he said. In these times this statement has obtained a new meaning to Raphael. And right now it’s the only thing he truly believes in. For him it is almost impossible to doubt Michael, even if Father and Gabriel clearly do, only for different reasons. He wonders if their disappointment even bothers Michael. It has to, but he can’t see if it does. Not long ago this kind of thoughts would have made his emotions rage like a storm. Now he is surprised with himself how easily he looks at his brother, trying to find out any flaw, any little imperfection. Any reason to doubt Michael.

  It’s strange how Michael is looking at him. He always looks at Raphael with pride and fondness, like he looks at all his little brothers. But sometimes… sometimes when he looks at Raphael the way he’s looking now there is something wan and ancient. Something that can’t be put in words. Raphael started to notice this look long before Lucifer’s betrayal.

  Michael’s bloodstained hand cards through his short hair and Raphael hides his face in his brother’s neck, breathing in that smell that can’t seem to stop haunting him.

  “I won,” he whispers. “You know, I won.”

  Of course Michael knows.

  “I defeated Azazel. And… he tried to strip me from my Grace, tried to take it all for himself, but… I did’t know such thing was possible. So I didn’t think and took his instead,” the realization hits him. “I drained him, Michael. Bled him. Just like that. Like some parasite,” he lets out a shaky unhappy laugh.

He really should cry. He knows he should. But he is too empty, even though he consumed his brother’s Grace not hours ago.

  “I took everything, everything he ever was, everything heavenly he had left. I robed him off any chance to be ever forgiven. I burned his wings. And… I didn’t kill him. He begged for mercy. Begged for quick death, begged for any death. But I had no pity.” This time his voice isn’t shaking, it’s alarmingly smooth.

‘It wasn’t me,’ he wants to say when Michael arms tighten around his frame. But that would be a lie, wouldn’t it? And lie is a sin.

  There are a lot of questions he wants to ask. Most of them start with why. But it’s not Michael who should answer them. Michael is stupid. He knows everything, but he’s stupid. He remembers how Michael explained them the nature of all things. Everything has its beginning and everything has to come to an end. How every tiniest particle has its term measured beforehand. It makes Raphael wonder if peace and happiness also consist of such particles. The perfect indestructible harmony proved to be fragile. One crack brought the kingdom down. And Raphael has cracked too. He knows that something inside has been broken, because he can’t feel a single damn thing.

  “Why don’t you say anything, Michael?” he asks quietly, lifting his head to look at his brother.

  Michael eyes open wide revealing green irises. Then his mouth opens slightly but enough for Raphael to see. Michael’s tongue has been viciously bitten off. Lucifer gets creative, unless Michael did it himself. Must’ve hurt a lot, probably still does. This will take time to heal.

  Michael allowed Lucifer do this. And the thought makes Raphael laugh.

  “Why did you let this happen?” he isn’t sure if he’s asking about the wound.

  “Do you like it when it hurts?” Michael just stares into him. And Raphael knows, that Michael knows. Knows that Raphael wants it hurt, wants to feel at least some pain if nothing else.

  “Why is that, Michael? Why everybody wants to hurt you?” _Why do you allow them to? Why let them?_

  He shouldn’t be asking, he should shut up.

  “You know that, right? Gabriel wants to hurt you. Father always hurts you and doesn’t even notice.”

_I want to hurt you._

  ”Lucifer started this not only because of pride and his love for Father, but because he wanted to cause you pain, to make you look at him and only him. Because you didn’t love him enough.”

  Raphael didn’t know how long Lucifer had Michael all to himself, sharing him only with Father, but his possessiveness wasn’t unnoticed by Raphael.

  “You love us equally, but he was Father’s favorite, everyone’s favorite. My favorite too. It was easy to look at him, easy to listen to him singing and sing along. It was easy to love him. You… it’s hard to look at you. You are blinding. When you sing everything falls silent. It’s hard to love you, Michael.”

  Why is he saying those things? As if Michael doesn’t know it already. And Raphael does love Michael, he needs him like every earthly creature needs air. But he can’t love him like Lucifer did or still does, because that kind of love frightens him. He can’t love Michael the way Michael loves Father, because he isn’t strong enough.

  “I’m not strong, brother.”

_I don’t want to be._

  “I am going to lose it.” Faith. Reason. Life. He knows it for sure. Sooner or later this emptiness will consume all his devotions, crush his bones and bleed him dry.

  He wonders what kind of words Michael would to choose to console him, to convince him, to give him hope. Probably they would be very simple. But it doesn’t matter, because no words can reach him, they would hit a transparent wall and fly back useless.

  Michael sits up, puts his rough palm on Raphael’s cheek, making him meet his eyes. They look like children, Raphael thinks. He hasn’t sat on Michael’s lap since forever. Michael’s eyes are blurry and unreadable, but Raphael doesn’t want to know what they hide. Once again he hides his face in Michael’s hair, his arms wrap around his broad shoulders and Michael returns the embrace with equal force.

  Next words Raphael whispers are a prayer.

  “Don’t ever leave me.”

* * *

 

  Centuries after Raphael is sitting on the seashore in her new vessel, Michael is beside her in his. Lucifer and almost all of his army are trapped in the dark cold place underneath. But it’s not over. She doubts it’ll ever be.

  Children of Noah, Shem and Rachel, accepted them to fulfill the Lord’s will. But Raphael is so empty; she can’t find strength to even stand up. Her vessel is as numb as her spirit. She did everything Father told. Wasn’t that enough? She can’t see a point of this mission.

  Michael holds out his hand to help her stand up, but she doesn’t reach for it. She can’t. This vessel is too tight, Rachel suffocates her. Breathing is hard and… not worth effort really. But she still breathes, if slowly.

  “Raphael,” calls Michael. His voice is calm and soothing as breeze.

  She shakes her head so lazily she doubts Michael can see it.

  “Raphael, you have to stand up,” it’s not even an order. So softly it’s spoken.

  “I can’t,” she is surprised she’s found will to speak, though her tongue is heavy and clumsy.

  “You can.” Can’t Michael see?

  “I don’t… want to.” Words taste familiar. Ah, yes. Blood and ashes, even inside her it is all that left. She acts stupid and selfish, but what she can do?

  Michael squats down on the wet sand in front of her. His fingers removes tangled hair from her face and she finally looks at her brother. Her big strong brother. And damn it hurts. A dull pain that have never really left her since the very start is awakening and sharpening. Michael’s eyes are killing her, she thinks. They are hard as steel and have the very same cold color. They are burning through skin and flesh of her fragile vessel into her grace, stirring it from a slumber. She is suddenly aware of a pair of firm hands on her shoulders and thinks they might break her. Not once has she seen how things fall apart under Michael’s touch so easily. Even when he doesn’t intend them to.

  “Raphael, don’t do this to yourself,” says Michael.

 _Do what?’_ she wants to ask, but Michael puts his finger on her dry chapped lips to shush her. He used to do it a lot, to Lucifer and Gabriel and many other angelings.

  “Listen.”

  So she does. She hears ocean and wind, and clapping of seagulls’ wings in the air and splashing of fishes in the water. And she hears a gathering storm, Gabriel is chasing clouds far above them. She knows what she has to do. So many living things are going to die and she doesn’t understand for what. She doesn’t want to break that storm loose.

  Sea comes closer. Sky darkens.

  “Raphael. Close your eyes. Close your eyes and let it hurt.”

  It’s cruel of Michael to ask that, so very cruel. But her brother knows better, even if he’s stupid. She feels all the walls she’s built are crumbling down. Why Michael does that to her? He knows she isn’t strong. Not like she should be. A weakest archangel, that what she is. A shame to their Father no doubt. All she could do was watch at the rising chaos. And now Father wants her to raise chaos herself. Unfair. Wrong. Painful.

  She finally stands up and opens her eyes, but Michael is not there. Has he left her? Has he wronged her? And then she sees him. He is stepping on the water and ocean calms completely for a moment before her brother starts to shake the earth beneath the dark water, waking up volcanoes. As if he knows she’s ready now. She is.

  It hurts, everything hurts: her father and brothers, war and death, humans and their sins, Rachel and her little body, that’s shaking from tears. She doesn’t hold them back, because rain is washing away every tear as soon as it comes out. She thinks she screams too, but she can’t hear it over the tearing wind and thunder. The storm will rage for years. But maybe… just maybe it will be able to wash away all that blood and ashes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know... many people seem to hate Raphael, but I'm feelin sympathetic towards him (or her).


	4. Lapis Sum, Lapis Es

**I am a stone, you are a stone.**

 

 Samandriel is feeling down lately. Everyone is upset with him. Ion is becoming desperate, Naomi is disappointed, even Ezekiel starts to lose patience. He knows, they love him, but they demand too much from him. He can’t seem to do anything right. Maybe he is a lost cause and never going to become Heaven Host, never going to be strong. No, no, no! He will do better, he has to. He will grow up and become strong as Ezekiel or Camael, or even Michael he dares to think. And Father will be proud of him.

  He is sitting under an oak in the far corner of the Garden away from prying eyes and disappointment. The tree is very young, but centuries will pass and it will become magnificent and tall. Samandriel hopes he’ll become better in time too. But hope is not enough, isn’t it? He sighs heavily and leans on the trunk and looks up at the tree crown, all green and lively. He can’t get thoughts of his failures out of his head and absentmindedly picks at the grass with his fingers, when he hears a rustle of feathers near him. I must be Naomi has come to scold him again. But when he looks up it’s not Naomi he sees. It’s Michael looking down curiously at him and he stares back awkwardly.

  Michael wears a form of his latest vessel Margaret. Her spirit entered Paradise just yesterday. She was only fifteen and died in the name of the Lord, being tortured so long and so cruely. And Michael has stood forth for this child when demons joined people to torment her. The archangel ended her suffering and gave her well-deserved rest. This vessel is even smaller than his own, but her pale white skin and thin limbs that peep out from black robes are outshined by fiery black eyes, that burn with life and faith and Samandriel shudders under her gaze and grips grass in his hand.

  “Careful with that,” her voice not thunders how he expects it to but rings gently as she points at the grass under Samandriel’s hand.

  When he looks at his palm he sees blood all over it. Great, even grass can hurt him.

  “Grass can be sharper than any knife, little brother,” says Michael and kneels beside him to heal a cut with one motion of horribly thin fingers.

  Samandriel wonders what he is supposed to say. He never really talked to Michael, mostly he looked from afar and admired the archangel with awe.

  “I could feel your foul mood from Seventh Heaven, Samandriel,” a smile appears on her bloodless lips.

  He gulps in shame and makes a great effort to contain his grace that radiates distress.

  “I’m sorry,” he squeezes an apology out.

  “For what?” his brother seems confused.

 _‘For being a failure,’_ thinks Samandriel lowering his eyes and only now noticing an unfinished flower wreath in Michael’s hands. The flowers have withered and once golden ears have blackened, there are also black ribbons weaved into it.

  ‘”What is this?” he asks curiously.

  “Margaret didn't have a chance to complete it. Her father died a little before she was captured. I promised her to finish it.”

  “But he was a pagan priest,” remembers Samandriel.

  “And our brother is Satan," she says simply and he doesn't have time to think about it as she continues. "He was her father, he always wished best for her. She loved him and wished to honor his memory. It's the least I can do for her. She was such a brave child.”

  There is a long silence after that and Samandriel watches nimble fingers doing an amazing work. Those hands are like two pale spiders weaving flower canvas. The greatest warrior in whole world is sitting beside him, pathetic little angel, and weaves a wreath for a dead girl.

  “I wish I could be like you, Michael,” he confesses when her sorrowful work is almost finished.

  Her eyes widen as she turns to face him.

  “Don’t you want to be yourself?” she asks seemingly surprised.

  He is taken aback by the question.

  “I… I just want to do better. I have to be stronger.”

  “You are so young, Samandriel. Of course you will be strong. You are strong already and there is still a long way for you to go.”

  Michael has just praised him, but Samandriel can’t just accept it it and can’t stop himself from an outburst.

  “But I’m not! Not even close! I can barely wield my blade! Everything I do turns out wrong! I can’t even fly properly! Remember, when another day Elijah lost his wheel and fell from the sky? Well, it was me hitting his chariot! My wings are so clumsy and… and…” he’s out of breath and ashamed by this. Michael didn’t need to hear his complaints.

  Michael blinks few times (Samandriel’s never seen angels blinking) and suddenly gives a pretty laugh. Great, she’s mocking him. She does, he’s sure, even if laughter doesn’t sound mean. He’d mock himself too.

  “Sorry, little brother. I didn’t mean to laugh. I remember, yes. The old prophet was especially grumpy that day. But believe me, climbing up the clouds did him good,” she ruffles his hair with he spider-like hand and Samandriel feels his cheek warming with blush. He shouldn’t have said that. “Don’t worry, I shan’t tell Elijah or anyone else. Just be careful next time,” and she winks at him.

  Samandriel didn’t expect that. Especially from Michael. But he’s glad he could cheer her up a little. She puts the wreath on her laps and looks at him seriously.

  “I’m not the wisest or smartest angel here, but I can give you an advice if you want it,” she offers.

  Samandriel nods. If Michael is not the wisest, he’s surely the most experienced.

  “Power is deceptive, little brother. It’s strange and curious thing. It’s not what it seems.”

  It doesn’t make sense.

  “I don’t understand, Michael… power is power, isn’t it?”

  Michael shakes her head, turns he palm and shows it to him.

  “What do you see, Samandriel?” she asks gently.

  There is a little rock lying on her palm. A plain grey stone.

  “It’s just a rock,” he answers not seeing where this conversation is going.

  Michael smiles and says:

  “I personally think that this is one of the most powerful things in the world.”

  “Why? It's just a stone, not even a big one.”

  “It is a start of human civilization. It is death of Goliath in David’s hands.”

  Those examples still can’t explain Michael’s point of view.

  “I know about David and Goliath. I also know, that you were David,” David was another vessel for Michael, he was a great and righteous man, but it was Michael who killed Goliath.

  “Yes and no, little one. I’m going to tell you a secret. Can you keep it?”

  Samandriel nods eagerly.

  “Listen then. Yes, I occupied David’s body that day to ensure his victory. But it wasn’t me who defeated the giant, wasn’t me who swung the sling and delivered the fatal blow. It was all David. I answered his prayer, but he didn’t need me. See now?”

  “You tricked him?” asks Samandriel in disbelief.

  “You can say that. David believed it was Lord’s grace that let him win, but it was all his doing, I merely supported him,” quietly answered Michael, looking at him with her sunken dark eyes.

  “But I can’t see how it concerns me…”

  “This is what you are, Samandriel,” says Michael and puts the sharp stone in his hand.

  A pause hangs. He is a stone? A little stone? This cold dead thing? Even he feels a bit offended.

  Seeing his confusion, Michael starts talking again.

  “It’s better than any sword, little brother.”

  “I… I can’t see how,” he feels stupid.

  Michael chuckles and continues.

  “This is just a small rock, but it can fly as far as you throw it. It cannot be broken. If you try to break it you’ll sooner break yourself. And it’s even harder to bend. Look closer,” she commands.

  Samandriel stares at the cold unimpressive little thing on his palm. He sees tiny lines of lighter shade.

  “You can strike it all you want, but you’ll merely scratch it. And if you strike very hard, this little thing will start a big fire.”

  Samandriel is astonished, he could never think of stones under his feet the way Michael has showed him. And Michael compared it to him, Michael considers him strong. He is overflown with conflicting emotions .  He feels he doesn’t meet such expectations.

  “Never doubt, little brother,” Michael interrupts his thoughts. “Doubts are dangerous. Remember, what I told you.  Stone cannot be destroyed, but it can be reshaped. I know how hard you try, I’ve been watching you. Don’t stop. Learn to handle yourself and you’ll find your true strength.”

  Her words sound strict and kind in the same time. Michael has been watching him too, he realizes.

  “I will,” he promises earnestly. “I swear I won’t stop. I’ll make you proud!”

   “I am proud of you as it is, all of you,” her voice is honest, but her eyes look away from his.

  “Michael, may I ask you something?” he doesn’t know what makes him say that, he’s been asking questions endlessly and Michael’s been indulging him.

  “Yes?”

  “How have you become this strong?”

  Michael seems uncertain, which is strange.

  “It’s…” and she pauses, biting her lower lip. “It’s a long story. And hardly entertaining.”

  “Ah…” Samandriel understands, that he’s not going to hear it.

  “I can tell you one thing though, just between you and me.”

  “I swear I won’t tell,” Samandriel feels bold enough to take Michael’s hands, noticing how fragile they feel in his bigger ones.

  The wreath falls from her laps when she leans to him closer and closer. Her wing covers them both in warm shadow and she whispers into his ear.

  “When I was your age, I couldn’t even stand on my feet; my wings were but a dead weight crushing my spine. And look at you, you can run and fly and speak…” but Samandriel stops listening. It is not possible.

  “I don’t believe you. I’m almost thousand years old,” he whispers back. He is one of the youngest, but he can't remember being unable to stand.

  “I never lie,” she reminds him and he feels her smile against his cheek.

  Not being able to fly for a millennia or even more? Not even stand or walk? Even imagining such helplessness hurts, he wouldn’t survive it. He lets her hands go and puts his on her back feeling sharp bones beneath thin fabric of her robe and touching sharp feathers of her wings, one flap of which can overcome a distance of a light-year, or so he heard.

  “How long?” he dares to ask, still whispering.

  “I can’t tell exactly. Time smelt like..." she pauses to find a suitable comparison, "like a rotten rug.”

  Samandriel has no idea what it means, time hasn’t got a smell.

  “And Father..?” he feels Michael stiffen at the question, her fingers grasp the clothes on his chest.

  “What about him?”

  “Where was he? Wasn’t he there to help you stand up and fly?”

  Angels never take their first flight alone, the elder ones always there to help them. His own first flight was with Zachariah, who threatened to drop him if he didn’t stop wiggling and squirming, and Ezekiel’s was with Gabriel. He knows that Michael taught Naomi how to fly. But Michael himself never had elder brothers. Surely Father had to be the one to help him.

  But Michael is silent. She doesn’t answer, just puts her head on his shoulder and hums a melody Samandriel’s never heard before. It’s peaceful and tender. The tune repeats over and over, over and over, lulling his senses under the shadow of Michael's wings, surrounded by her comforting grace.

  He doesn’t mean to cry, but he can’t help it. He cries from frustration with himself, from happiness that Michael trusts him and is proud of him, from the beauty of Michael’s song. He is so glad, that someone has come to him to dispel his doubts, to teach him such a simple yet important lesson. Squeezing Michael's little gift in his hand he only wishes Michael has come to him sooner.

  “You are a stone too, aren’t you, Michael?” Samandriel asks, when hypnotizing chant is over.

  “You and I both, little brother,” she answers. Their voices have never risen above whisper since Michael sheltered them from the outside world with her giant wings.

  When they finally stand to leave for their duties, Samandriel is too busy wiping his tears to notice that the oak has grown a little bigger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this chapter turned out almost happy...


	5. Aequilibritati

**Delicate balance**

The rebellion and war came unexpectedly. None of them, even the rebels, really knew, what exactly it means. They were no soldiers, nor Gabriel, nor Raphael, nor Lucifer, no angel before haven’t had the need in weapon. Before there were only peace and harmony and suddenly the world around them became unknown. So when the War came, no one recognized him except for Michael and, to Gabriel’s horror, he welcomed such guest like an old friend.

Everything has changed. His beloved brothers and sisters were not the same as before. It was scary, how shining Lucifer became angry and self-righteous, how smart Azazel was vicious and vengeful, how beautiful Inoel threw herself into the depths of sin and how kind and loyal Samael suddenly turned into a monster. Gabriel can continue endlessly, counting how many angels have fallen within few days. But the change that terrified him the most was change in Michael. No one seemed to notice this Michael wasn’t their Michael anymore. It was a machine, a weapon, a perfect soldier. Michael, that would patiently draw delicate patterns on butterflies’ wings, braid Lailah’s and Anael’s hair or play childish games with cherubs, was gone.

It wasn’t his Michael, but soon enough he understood that this was Father’s Michael, and somehow it made all only worse. The worst part of it was that Gabriel could still see the old caring Lucifer in what he had become and couldn’t see Michael in what, as Gabriel guessed, he had always been. But… both were equally deaf to his prayers. All that kept his hope alive was that while being ruthless Michael almost never struck to death, even when his enemies begged him to, he would just turn away and leave. Though Gabriel had no idea if that was mercy or cruelty.

Gabriel can’t remember since when he started to blame Michael even more than he blamed Lucifer. Maybe since Father shown first signs of disappointment in Michael. He doesn’t remember since when he started to imagine how things would be different and those chimeras seemed as believable as the blood spilling reality. What would happen if Michael killed Lucifer, what would happen if Lucifer killed Michael. What if they stopped fighting.

He remembers when their fallen brethren were condemned, remembers how Father and Michael silently watched each other in the eye and then Michael left with a curt nod and then everybody heard frantic screams as Earth split asunder greedily swallowing their defiled brothers  and silence as it closed again. And Gabriel remembers that it wasn’t over. Now he knows that it is far from over.

Now he stands before the empty throne holding weeping Raphael in his arms and asks himself for the thousandth time just why. They tried to fix it over and over, the Flood, the Exodus, Father’s human son that died for the sins of others – and nothing was enough to clean the corruption that made its nest deep inside the whole Creation. And now there is one final solution – the Revelation, the prophecy Gabriel delivered to John himself. So, Dad decided to give his World to Horsemen as a playground and let Michael and Lucifer just kill each other and everything that would stand in between? Makes little sense to him. But he didn’t question Father then and now it’s too late, because He’s gone, maybe for good. Gabriel can’t sense any trace of Saint Spirit in Heaven.

As if hearing his thought Raphael asks: “Do you feel it too? He’s gone. What if…” he doesn’t finish, but he doesn’t need to.

“Don’t even think about it,” Gabriel says more sternly than he intended to and sees new tears appearing in his little brother’s eyes.

“It’s too hard, I feel like I’m ready to lose Him forever. Is that a sin?”

Gabriel doesn’t know what is there to say. He can’t blame Raphael for these thoughts, not after all they’ve been through. After all that Dad put them through. This could be just another lesson from him, could be the last one, he thinks bitterly.

“We still have each other,” it’s all he can say to console his brother.

And where the Hell is Michael, when they need him the most? Too busy again? Never mind, he doesn’t care.

Michael finally appears weeks after. Gabriel wants to confront him, but Michael again has that look on him. Like soldier on a mission, not like mourning son. He wonders how Raphael is able to speak to Michael, to touch and hold his hands, when he is like that. Doesn’t he see what Gabriel sees? Does anyone?

Gabriel does his best to avoid Michael. It’s not too hard, because Michael is always somewhere on Earth, closing the seals, preparing the eventual outcome. And in the end it’s the common obsession with Apocalypse that makes him leave. He won’t fall, never, but he sure as Hell won’t be part of Dad’s stupid plan, won’t watch his brothers tear each other apart, not this time. He wants to take Raphael with him, but he knows that Raphael won’t leave his duty to Father, won’t leave Michael, even if Gabriel asks him to. Or rather especially if he asks. 

Michael… Gabriel won't leave before he talks to him, ut would be wrong. The more he thinks of his elder brother the angrier he becomes and by the time he decides to meet him for one last time he is blind with rage. The senior angels stepped aside without questions as he stormed by, younger ones literally flew away as soon as they sensed his presence.

Michael is in the armory, he must have broken another sword of his or whatever. But Michael is in another part of the room, holding the scales. Those damn scales that will decide Heaven or Hell for good and all. They don’t look that impressive at all, Michael with them, on the other hand, does. Gabriel looks at his noble features in profile as he stands still and his hand is firm so he won’t upset the balance. But the scales are ranging ever so slightly.

“What is that? Rehearsal for the Final Judgment?” Gabriel can’t help adding some venom into the words.

Michael doesn’t seem to hear him.

“Michael,” he calls annoyed.

“Michael!”

“Don’t ignore me!”

Finally Michael puts the scales on their place and turns to him without any expression on his face.

“You’ve been ignoring me for ages, brother,” he says in his usual calm voice.

“So you noticed. Didn’t think you cared,” he tries to sound carefree.

Michael looks at him with almost clinical attention.

“Why do you fear me, Gabriel?”

“I don’t,” he denies so quickly he doesn’t believe himself.

It was obvious that Michael didn’t buy it. But he didn’t pursue that question further. And this reminds him of his Michael, who wouldn’t ask questions, when he had no answers.

“You know, Michael, I love you, but…” but he couldn’t finish as Michael has burst out laughing. And damn if it isn’t alarming, because Gabriel never heard Michael laugh like that. He sounds bitter and almost hysterical.

“Michael?” Gabriel asks carefully, when Michael calms down.

His answer is  blank face and empty eyes. Gabriel won’t have any of it.

“Was that something I said?” he just wants to understand, to see if there’s anything left of his Michael.

“You all say that. I heard it enough,” Michael doesn’t explain.

“Say what? Who all?”

“Father. Lucifer. Samael, Ananel, Inoel, Danel, Azazel, Ietarel… now you too,” Gabriel hasn’t heard names of their fallen siblings spoken with love and longing for a long-long time. Michael sighed and continued, “The worst always starts like that.”

“Like what?”

“I love you, but…” echoed Michael. “Isn’t it funny? Love doesn’t have any buts.”

Gabriel had no idea.

“What did they say?”

“Does it matter? Does it matter to you? You are leaving too,” Michael knows. Gabriel planned to just disappear. And now Michael knows and Gabriel dreads what it can mean for him. He unconsciously reaches for his blade. But Michael just turns away.

“Are you not going to stop me?” he asks feeling the warm hilt of his dagger.

Michael doesn’t turn around to face him. It looks almost like he waits to be stabbed in the back. Gabriel sees his wide shoulders moves up and down as he sighs heavily.

“What do you want from me, Gabriel? I can’t bring Father back. I can’t redeem Lucifer and others. I can’t make you stay,” his voice shaded with sorrow and it is most surreal image, almighty Michael admitting he can’t do something, and most ridiculous one. It makes Gabriel’s blood boil.

“Can’t you? Can’t you really? I think you just don’t want to!” Michael doesn’t even shift.

“Look at me!” anger makes him brave enough to reach for Michael shoulder and violently turn him to face Gabriel. Michael isn’t threatened at all. And Gabriel suddenly realizes that he hasn’t touched Michael since Lucifer’s fall and that Michael became cold.

“You can do anything, Michael! Anything! If there is His equal in this world it has to be you!”

“I can do many things, I have done many things I never imagined myself doing. I am not who you think I am. I’m not like Him. I don’t want to be Him,” that is not the answer Gabriel expected to hear from the good son Michael or a loyal servant Michael.

“I know what you are,” at first he hisses, and then he starts to yell, “You are machine I was stupid enough to call brother! You are just heartless unfeeling war machine! You casted our brother down like it was nothing! And I remember well enough, that it was you and not him who burned down Eden! And now you are going to kill him! All this years I wondered who you are and where is my Michael! I guess he died at war,” he finally takes a breath, “or maybe he never was there in the first place”.

Probably all Heaven has heard him, but he can’t bring himself to care. All he wants now is to wipe out that stupid mask plastered on Michael’s face. So he punches him with he’s got and he’s got a lot, everything that has been bottled up until now. There is a loud crack when his fist collides with Michael’s face. He isn’t sure what’s been broken, Michael’s jaw or his wrist. He doesn’t care.

Michael spits blood on the clean white floor and when he raises his head there is a smile. Big brother Michael’s smile.

“Wasn’t that hard, was it?” he says and looks at Gabriel like he’s just made a pure note on his trumpet and not punched him in the face. Gabriel doesn’t know what is happening here anymore

“Don’t be like that, Michael! Fix it!”

“I don’t know how”

“Then make me stay and we’ll fix it together! Make me stay!” it isn’t what he was going to say, but it’s too late. His eyes burn with hot angry tears and those vicious thin streaks make their way down his cheeks.

“Make me stay,” he says again softly.

Michael reaches to him and doesn’t let Gabriel flinch away.

“I won’t even try, not this time. If there is really nothing for you here, then fly as fast as you can. Show me there is a way to outrun our Fate. And if that’s not possible, I’ll see you again,” a kiss to Gabriel’s forehead is a blessing. Through the veil of tears he sees his brother silently watches him disappear. This is the worst way to leave, he didn’t want Michael to let him go, and years after Gabriel will keep asking himself why it was Michael he wanted to hold onto.


	6. Mortem Parum

**Little death**

 

Death is riding hell for leather, hoping to make it in time, but his steed is weak and thin, and yet he hopes he’ll see his brother. Sometimes they meet, rarely, just a little more often than never. He sees a clot of fire hitting the line of the horizon from afar.

He arrives to his destination and knows he’s late again. All that left on the battlefield is the bloodied crop to rip. Dead silenced is broken by crows’ caw and the clatter of crimson courser disappearing beyond the hills. His children have already started the harvest. And there still is a fraction of life which his children dare not to approach. The presence is familiar but faint as it shouldn’t be.

Death stumbles upon the body pierced with a spear through the chest and yet very much alive.

“Are you seeking peace among the dead, child? Or have you tripped over a cloud and fallen from your nest?”

“Don’t call me a child,” comes the usual answer colored with blood from the vessel’s mouth.

“Grow up first,” it is how the conversation always starts. But everything else reminds him of old times. The archangel doesn’t stand up to greet him, isn’t even looking at him, the only pale eye is set on the sunset sky above. Death recognizes what is happening. Pain, mortal pain. Humiliating and degrading. And he is missing at least half of his grace.

“What have you done this time, child? Or should I ask what He has done?” because nobody else can hurt him like this, only him and his ‘Father’, even the leviathan choked on this kind of treat.

“He left,” came the hollow voice.

Ah. That explains a lot.

“So you have really tripped,” he simply says instead.

“I have,” Michael answers just as simply.

“Well, you have always been clumsy and He - irresponsible,” _and cruel_ , he won’t say it though.

But it appears Michael doesn’t listen anyway. Death watches and wonders if he should just take him now. He is weakened almost beyond recognition, he breaths hard, he has an open wound where his heart should be – like a dead man. Eons ago Michael would follow him without questions, but now… they both have changed.

Suddenly a grimace on angel’s face brings him back to presence.

“Hurts?” he asks out of common courtesy.

“It’s not it… I… I think I’m lost,” Michael says somewhat perplexedly.

“Lost?”

“There are walls everywhere. I can’t find a way out, can’t remember how I got here.”

The mighty archangel has stuck in the maze of his own mind. It’s not a big surprise. Feeling generous Death decides to show him the direction to here and now.

“Your brother. I’ve heard we are going to play on his side of a chessboard in the End.”

“Chessboard..? Ah. It’s only fair isn’t it?”

Death has to admit that it is. Because there can be no competition between these two, without him and his brothers the outcome is too obvious. And it makes him ask.

“You will kill him, won’t you?”

Michael doesn’t answer at first; however he is looking Death in the eye now.

“Would you have done it? Would you kill your own brother on father’s order?”

“I don’t have a father, child.” Even if he had father or mother, he doesn’t remember.

“Please, tell me.”

“I don’t know,” he cuts off.

“You love them. You follow them everywhere hoping just to see them again. I believe you wouldn’t kill any of them, even if death is more clement than a cursed life they have to live. They always suffer, one from the disease, another from mortal wounds, third one from the hunger being consumed from the inside by nothingness...”

“Stop,” Death demands, but insolent child pretends he hasn’t heard him.

“And you won’t help them. You better have them cursed than dead. You failed them, didn’t you? Like I failed mine…” and it is enough. Death kneels beside seemingly lifeless body and squeezes its throat with a crushing force. Would it be anyone else the touch alone would draw the last breath out of him.

“Just what do you know, child? Think you can judge me? I could take you right now and your Father won’t help you.”

Rare being can push him into anger, but this one _is_ a rare being.

“You won’t take me. You don’t need me, you never wanted me,” he sputters along with more blood. There is a certainty in his words and Death won’t bother to dissuade him, however children should know their place.

“You play with fire here, little moth. Your father abbandoned you again, you have mutilated yourself to refill his presence in Heaven and now you are lying here all alone, bleeding and helpless at my mercy and still so sure of yourself. So tell me, angel, do you have a death wish?”

“I’m hardly helpless,” whispers Michael, now looking at him with both eyes, and gets a hold above the hand that suffocates him. And yes, there is still enough power to break his arm, as ridiculous as it is, and Death decides not to risk it and lets Michael go. After all he is not the one to enter into a childish quarrel.

“I know you aren’t. And I know you can’t really hold your tongue. That’s why you are a child. You are cruel like every child is. You are pure and sincere, that’s why you are so cruel.” This angel and War are alike in that aspect. Maybe that’s why his brother likes Michael so much, Death muses. His little brother is indeed earnest in what he does. And it is peculiar how it is War who tries the most to make peace in their messed up family.

“I didn’t mean to insult you,”

“I know. However you still haven’t answered my question. Will you kill the Devil?”

“It is my destiny.” Death knows that these words were put into his head and mouth by someone else.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” destiny proves to be deceitful. “I was your destiny too.”

Michael averts his eyes and this is where Death realizes that he still is. So that is how He wants to play the cards. But Death isn’t to be played with. God does have a thing for children sacrifice, especially his own. _‘Kill me your son’_ , He said to Abraham. It was a joke though. What happens now isn’t funny.

“It doesn’t mean anything, child,” he repeats sternly.

“I can’t kill a dragon without becoming one,” and these words also don’t belong to Michael.

“Do you even understand what it means? You can’t even tell good from evil,” he can’t, not really. After all he is the same ignorant child.

“I am supposed to. He said I would. But nothing changed. The world hasn’t changed its colors. I don’t understand,” and pale blurry eyes start to shine from moisture. Death hopes he won’t cry, he doesn’t really care, but it would be annoying nonetheless.  But what come out from angel’s eyes are not just tears. It’s red and thick and it is not from vessel’s damage. At least he stopped spitting blood.

“I swallowed it whole, but it had no taste to it… it’s just scrubbed on my teeth like sand and kept sticking in my throat. Everything turns out wrong. He left us because of me. It’s all me, I’m a big mistake.” He says it matter-of-factly, no shame as always, but crimson drops keep gathering in corners of his eyes.

“Aren’t we all, child?” it is no consolation, just truth.

The infamous fruit happened to be tasteless to Michael, unexpected yet expected. Death thinks it is better this way. Better to have faith and love than fear and hate, even if they are a lie.

“Don’t waste your time on me, you have brothers to catch up,” true, but Death doesn’t hurry to stand up and continue his endless chase. “I’m going to be alright,” he promises as if his wellbeing matters to Death.

“I don’t doubt it, you heal faster than a stray dog,” it makes Michael laugh, but his laughter is just as red as the sky above.

Then Death decides to do something he might regret after. It may end badly. But who cares what happens after. Michael stares up at him with wide eyes as he carefully removes black strands stuck with blood to his face. With other hand he takes the stele of a spear and in the same time as he pulls it out he seals his lips with angel’s, instantly killing a cry of pain that would have torn Michael’s lungs.

He drops the spear on the ground that seems to be sicken from blood and rotting flesh. He turns back to Michael whose eyes are wide open and motionless, but tears are still falling, transparent and clear now. Death covers Michael’s face with his palm closing the pair of bright blue but still eyes and cleaning blood and dirt from pale face. He reaps the soul of the warrior and passes it to one of his children. Now he sees only Michael and almost feels sorry for trapping the angel in his grief and the labyrinth built around his memory if only for a short time. But little death never killed anyone, ironically.

Saddling his pale horse Death thinks how easier it was when Michael was just a dust under his feet, blind, deaf and mute, when he was nothing and not worth his time. Maybe if he bothered to look closer, Michael would be his now and wouldn’t be crying over father, that never really loved him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just couldn't concentrate on my exam without finishing this.  
> So... was it any good?


End file.
